Cliches and Heartbreak
by riversoftears
Summary: Brittana! Brittany isn't stupid. She doesn't like cliches or heartbreak, but somehow she finds herself in the middle of both when dealing with the love of her life.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first attempt at any fan fiction! Please forgive my ignorance and many mistakes. I've been reading for awhile now and I finally decided I just couldn't NOT write something. Please review and help me become more informed and get better!**

People say I'm stupid. I get it, I really do. I'm blonde, bubbly, chew too much gum, and the things that come out of my mouth are generally more akin to an eight year old than a high school student. The funny thing is, I'm not dumb. The world just looks different to me, and I'm uninhibited enough to point those differences out. I don't fit into a mold. I hate molds with the same passion I hate lots of clothing. They're both so restricting, so good at helping us hide. I think that's why she likes being my friend, because she wishes she could be like me.

The first day we met I liked her right away. There was something so… guarded about her. I enjoyed a challenge, even at twelve. So, in the middle of the crowded middle school hallway, right after first period English, I walked over to her and said, "Your name is cool, I'm Brittany." I grabbed her hand and pulled her with me as I asked her about her schedule. She resisted at first and I expected that. She had massive walls built up, and I had no boundaries, it was bound to be complicated. By the time we walked all the way across our school to the sixth grade lockers and I dropped her hand, she looked a little disappointed. I rambled as we walked; about ducks, Popsicles, and swimming pools. Not because those were pressing issues on my mind, simply because I knew that "dumb" put people at ease, and that conversations should be simple and funny. She didn't appear to know that. Her first words to me, blurted out quickly were,

"Are you new? Because I know all the kids who were in the fifth grade last year and I don't know you." With those words I was introduced to her almost religious regard for social status. I nodded, my blonde hair bouncing over my shoulders,

"Yep. My family just moved from Missouri. It's weird though, Missouri and Ohio are so much alike, it's almost like we didn't move at all and my parents just told me we did." She smiled a small smile and shut her locker.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. Brittany, right?" I slammed my locker, pleased at the loud noise it made and replied,

"You got it." I turned around and began to walk away, my notebook clenched to my chest. I wanted to stay, believe me; I had decided I needed to know everything there was to know about this girl. But I had made up rules for making friends because I had so much trouble with it. The first rule was, don't over stay your welcome.

I jumped when a hand on my elbow interrupted my thoughts. I looked to my left and saw her. She had followed me. She grabbed my left hand away from my notebook and I let her. I briefly thought my ideas about her and her regard for social status and the brick walls surrounding her heart were wrong as it looked like she was going to hold my hand. Then she glanced around the busy hallway and dropped my hand, keeping only my pinky linked with hers.

I should have known that day, that minute that very second, she was going to break my heart. But I was curious. That's usually what gets me in the most trouble of all, my curiosity. I wanted to find out why she hid, why she cared so much about being popular, why my pinky was ok for holding; but not my hand. She's answered those questions in the last five years.

_Summer after 7th grade_

"Britt? Can I come over?" I shuffled to the edge of my bed and stared out the window as my sleep scratchy voice replied,

"San, you know you can ALWAYS come over. But why now? It's 2:00 in the morning." My mind was reeling with the implications of this phone call. She stayed over all the time, yet she'd never called to come over in the middle of the night. Usually she wanted to come over right after school and stay all weekend long. I think she would have stayed through the week too if my mom would have just stopped throwing her those damn death glares.

Speaking of my parents, I love them, I really do. They love me too, I think. The problem is, they believe strongly in molds and labels. They'd assigned me one when I was in grade school and couldn't figure out long division. They never said it out loud, but I knew they thought I was silly, an airhead, maybe they even thought I was dumb. Whatever, I let people think what they want, even my parents. I knew who I was, and Santana was learning who I was, other than that? It didn't seem to matter to me.

So lost in my thoughts, I missed Santana's next sentence and all I heard on the other end of the phone was sniffling. She was crying? My heart broke. "Come on San. Two blocks and you'd better run. It's late and that makes me nervous so I'm timing you." The call ended without another word and I walked to my bedroom window. I saw her as she sprinted fleet-footed and sure into my front yard. She froze as soon as she stepped past the curb and I wondered if she thought floodlights and sirens were about to sound to catch her sneaking into my bedroom. I slid the bedroom window open and hissed, "Come on San, and hurry before the burglar alarm goes off!" Even from the other side of the yard I saw her pale as she sprinted to my window and dove headfirst through the open pane. I giggled as she lied on her back on my floor. She was gasping for air, more from fear than exertion I think as she asked,

"Britts are you serious? You guys really have a burglar alarm that goes off when someone is in your yard?" I just giggled and replied,

"I dunno." She shot me a glare that I knew was fake, she still thought I was dumb sometimes. Then her face fell into a frown. I realized this could be a clue to what I had missed on the phone and so I dropped gracefully to the floor beside her and laid my head on her shoulder and asked,

"Why so sad San?" I felt her take a deep breath and I lifted my head when she didn't answer. I looked at her, as intently as possible, and I saw many different emotions run through her velvety brown eyes. Finally she exhaled sharply through her nose and said,

"You know my mom. Always the bitch. I just needed to escape." I nodded, trying to convey understanding, yet I still replied,

"It's like 2 in the morning, why were you even talking to her?" She uttered a bitter chuckle and sarcastically replied,

"You wouldn't get it Britt. Two in the morning is like the witching hour for alcoholics. The bar closed at one and by the time she stumbled home to lay into me about everything, well… Here we are, two in the morning." She closed her eyes as tears leaked out of them. She put her hands over her face and I knew it was because she hated that she cared so much about this. She didn't want me to see her cry. She did this all the time. She would hide herself away from me the moment she began to feel something.

I had known Santana Lopez for 668 days now. I wasn't counting, it's just one of those random things my brain does. I wasn't anywhere close to breaking down all her walls. It bugged me. I loved her. She was my very best friend, and sometimes late at night I thought she might be more than that. She was tough, fiery, interesting, and she needed me, even if she wouldn't admit that yet. There were details about San's life that I knew I still didn't have. I had, however, recently learned that her mom was an alcoholic. That was a slip up on Santana's part that I'm sure she regrets to this day.

We were at her house, lying on her bed, watching some stupid television show. Summer break had begun only three days ago and we had spent most of every day together so far. I was lying close to Santana, resisting the urge that told me to grab her hand. The front door slammed and Santana jumped three feet into the air. She hated loud noises and I just giggled at her. She turned to look at the time on her phone and I heard her mumble,

"Shit." She scrambled out of the bed and whipped her head around to stare at me, her eyes wide, and I saw something in them I had seldom seen. Fear. She shook her head and dove from the bed, grabbing my slides and thrusting them into my hands.

"You gotta go Brittany. Don't say anything; don't ask anything, just go. Please. Out the window." I wrinkled my nose, sat up on the bed, and said,

"San, your bedroom is on the second floor! I'll break my neck trying to get down from the window!" Her face paled and her eyes flicked to the closed bedroom door. I heard footsteps outside and I saw Santana's shoulders drop momentarily before she looked at me, her perfect mask back in place, and resignation in her eyes. She knocked the slides out of my hands onto the floor and pushed my shoulders back onto her bed as she replied,

"Yeah. Okay." As soon as the words left her mouth the door burst open and I saw Mrs. Lopez for the first time. She looked a lot like Santana. I could see where San had gotten her beautiful eyes, her perfect nose, and her wide smile. The difference? Mrs. Lopez had wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and streaks of gray ran through her raven hair. She was dressed in her uniform. Mrs. L was a cop, which I thought was pretty cool. As she stood in the doorway she slowly swayed back and forth and grabbed onto the doorframe to steady herself. I heard Santana whisper behind me,

"Shit." But I was already standing up and fluidly walking toward the door with my hand out.

"Hello Mrs. Lopez. I'm Brittany Pierce, Santana's friend. I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long time." I stood before her awkwardly holding my hand out as she glared at me, her eyes unfocused. When she opened her mouth to speak I could smell the alcohol on her breath. Her eyes left mine as she barked at Santana,

"What is she doing here Santana? You know I don't like anyone at the house. We'll talk about this later." She turned, keeping a tight hold on the doorframe for balance, then staggered down the hall. Santana sighed loudly and I turned from my frozen position by the door to look at her.

"Well," she snarled, "what do you have to say? I know you could tell she was drunk. Jesus, she slurred every word of that sentence." I knew immediately this would be a make or break moment in our relationship. I had just found out one of Santana's secrets. Our friendship was never supposed to get to this place in San's mind. So I decided not to panic, just to accept. She needed me. I walked back to her bed, slid on my slide sandals, leaned over and brushed her hair out of her eyes. I said,

"I'd better go, I sure don't want you to get grounded and not be able to come over tomorrow. Love you San." I brushed her cheek with my hand and turned to walk out the door.

"Britt wait!" I heard as I tugged open the Lopez's front door. I turned and saw Santana at the top of the stairs with a backpack on her back. She ran down the stairs and came to stand beside me. She looked at me nervously and linked her right pinky with my left as she hesitantly asked, "Do you think your parents will care if I stay the night tonight? I mean… I just… Do you think it's ok?" I beamed at her and tugged her pinky as we walked out the door and said,

"I bet it's fine San."

That was a week ago and Santana had been at my house every day since then. I tried once to start a discussion about her mom, but she had just cut me off to talk about all the cute boys in our class. I let it go; when she was ready to talk we would talk. Now here she was crawling through my window crying at two in the morning, it must be time to talk. She stood up from the floor and walked to desk. She pulled herself up to sit on my desk and I followed her.

"Nuh-uh." She said. "I need some space. Go sit on the bed." I frowned but turned to walk over to my bed. I sat down and immediately curled my knees up underneath my chin. Santana placed her hands over her eyes again and whispered,

"I'm going to do this fast and we're never going to talk about it again. Ok?" Her watery brown eyes peeked through her fingers at me and I nodded quickly. She nodded back sharply and began talking.

"I was eight. My Mom had worked and supported my Dad through medical school once they found out she was pregnant with me at eighteen. They were never happy together, but they got married anyway when she got pregnant because that's what good little Catholics do. Anyway, I was eight and I think I was happy as far as eight year olds go. Then one night Dad doesn't come home from work. I haven't seen him since. Mom tells me in her… less lucid moments… that he's remarried to the love of his life and that they have twin boys who are four. Anyway, that's not important. He left her for the love of his life and she found the love of her life. Booze. She drinks constantly from the time she gets home from work until it's time for her to go in again. She keeps her job because she doesn't drink on duty, she doesn't drink and drive. She's not stupid. She's mean when she drinks though. She's done some stuff to me before… But it's whatever; I can take care of myself. I was embarrassed to tell you this Britt. I didn't want you to know. But, honestly? I've never had a friend like you before. I've never had someone who looks at me like you do, who really _sees_ me you know? You make me nervous because I think you know so much more than just what I tell you. You didn't even act surprised when you met my mom and she was sloshed the other day… I don't know why you like me, or like hanging out with me, but I can't lose you. I don't talk about stuff like this with anyone, but I wanted you to know, at least a little bit. I'm sorry I…" I cut off Santana's rambling by standing from the bed and walking to my desk. She cut off her speech and looked up at me with the most raw and honest and vulnerable look on her face I'd ever seen. I stood between her knees and said,

"It's ok San. I'm not going anywhere. I love you." Then, with the innocence of a thirteen year old I leaned into her, closed my eyes, and kissed her gently on the lips. She breathed out quickly and grabbed me around the neck in a tight hug. She stood up and pressed her face into my neck. I wrapped my arms tightly around her back as she sobbed. I ran one hand over her raven hair and whispered into the hair at the crown of her head,

"It's gonna be ok. I'll never leave. Never. You'll always have me."

**What do you think? Let me know! Like I said, I'm new at this so if it's horrible please feel free to tell me! :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok- so I just couldn't stop writing this today. So here you go, chapter 2. Please let me know what you think!**

So if I'm dumb like everyone expects, than I shouldn't know the definition of a cliché right? Well, I do know the definition of a cliché, it's something that's tired and worn out. A cliché is an expression or idea that's overused and lost its' meaning. Number one cliché in my world? Love. Don't get me wrong, I'm not jaded or disillusioned… Oooh, big words from the blonde huh? Ok, yeah, maybe I am a little jaded. Listen, I don't say I love something unless I'm really sure I love it. My friend Kurt loves everything and everyone. The way he talks, love is just an overused adjective. He even loves a different celebrity every week. Not me. Nope. I don't love pizza. I don't love TV shows. I love my family, my cat, rhythm, music and dance. As for being "in love"? Well, I've only ever been IN love with Santana. A lot of good that's done me.

_Beginning of Freshman Year_

"I told you, we're not friends right now Brittany. This hurts. A lot." Santana pushes her way through the crowded hallways and tries to lose me. I'm not easy to lose though, she is my own personal homing device, I could find her anywhere, everywhere.

"Why are you so mad Santana? I don't get it." My eyes threaten to spill over with tears and I'm sure as hell not going to let my stupid expressive eyes betray me like that. I stop and breathe through my nose, clenching and unclenching my fists. In those few moments I lose her and the next time I see her she's wrapped around him. I hate him. That's not a cliché. Noah Puckerman. I throw up in my mouth a little bit and I spin on my heel to go to my locker.

During fourth period History class she walks past me, no, goddamned _bounces_ past me and drops a note on my desk. She sits with her other friends. When she doesn't sit with me I have no one to sit with. I told you earlier I'm bad at making friends. I think it's because I'm always so in my head about things. I'm fun, I'm a great acquaintance to most people. I even figured out this summer that once I'm drunk it feels like I have friends. But I don't. Why? Maybe because I hate clichés, so I hate terms like "BFF" I mean really, if you have ninety-seven "BFF"s? You really don't even have one. I don't throw things around lightly. I don't take people for granted. So, I don't really have friends.

Except for Santana. She's the only person that's really gotten me. She knows I'm not dumb now. She says I act like I'm a river that's only a foot deep but once she waded in she realized I'm deeper than the ocean. I get where she's going with that, I liked that analogy. So why is she mad? I think I know but I decide to read the note instead of listening to Mrs. Parker drone on about some important yet boring facet of World History.

_**Brittany,**_

(uh oh. I already know this is going to be bad. She used my full name, and didn't dot my i with a heart.)

_**I thought we were friends. In fact, I thought you were my best friend. So, funny isn't it, how my best friend never even told me she could dance? Let alone that she had been to Brant Lake dance camps in New York every summer since she was eleven. It's weird, right that I had to find something like that out from Quinn? She said I shouldn't be mad, that you were really drunk at that party last week when you told her. I am mad though. I'm mad because you don't think I'm important enough to talk about your dreams with. I'm mad because I thought I knew you. I'm mad that you're making me spend my first few days of eighth grade without you. I know this sounds stupid but you know I don't trust people. You know I let you in. Guess I made a big mistake. **_

_**Have a great year.**_

_**Santana Lopez**_

Shit. Her full name. She really WAS mad. But you know what? I was mad too. I mean, come on! This is coming from someone who never told me what she was feeling. I had to guess when she needed to laugh, when she needed a shoulder to cry on, when she needed a sleepover, or when she needed a cuddle.

Damn that party. Santana couldn't go that night; her mom had her on lockdown again. So I walked to Matt's house with Quinn Fabray. Quinn was cool. She and Santana had been friends since elementary school. She could be icy and even straight up mean sometimes, but most of the time she liked to keep things light and laugh a lot. Those are the kinds of people I like to be around.

We walked to the party and immediately began drinking. I was pretty new to the world of drunk. Santana hated when I drank, probably because of her mom, so when we went to parties we just goofed around, danced around like idiots, and kissed random boys. Yuck. Kissing boys for me became a cliché. It didn't mean anything and I knew somewhere inside that as long as Santana was around it never would mean anything. So, of course, I hated kissing boys right now.

But that night, at the party with Quinn I got really drunk. I got out of my head for once. I danced. I wasn't just goofing off like I did when I was with Santana. I danced like I loved it, because I did. I felt so freakin' free out there. There was nothing stopping me from rolling, dropping, and moving with every beat. I looked up at one point and everyone at the party was staring at me. Then I heard someone shout,

"Move! Everybody out of the way, this thing's heavy!" I looked to my right and saw Matt and Puck (as in Noah Puckerman, gag!) carrying the kitchen table into the middle of our makeshift dance floor in the living room. Matt leered at me as Puck leaned over to speak to me,

"Hey Britt, every sexy dancer needs a stage. Your moves are smokin', we all want to watch." I must have been drunker than I thought and I allowed Puck to give me a hand up onto the table. The music began to thump again and before I knew it I was lost again: riding the beat, moving to the melody.

I can't tell you how long I danced, but finally I heard a voice call my name.

"Brittany! Come down! You're going to sweat to death, let's get another drink." I knew that soft lilting voice belonged to Quinn and I searched the crowded room for her. I saw her and I casually jumped from the table, to the sound of groans from horny teenaged boys, my legs shaking as I crossed the room.

"_Damn, I must have been dancing for awhile"_, I thought. I reached Quinn and she handed me a plastic cup that I drained of its fruity concoction in one long gulp.

"Whoa Britt. Slow down Speed Racer. You're already drunk, there's no hurry." She pulled the cup from my grasp and replaced it with a bottle of water. "Here. This is what you really need after that workout. You want to go sit on the swing?" she asked as she gestured to Matt's wraparound porch. I shrugged and we walked outside. I felt so dizzy and it felt like the beat of the song was still pulsating in my head. We walked out the front door and dropped into the wicker porch swing. I immediately pulled my knees up under my chin and Quinn turned sideways to stare at me.

"What?" I asked softly and a bit defensively.

"Nothing." She replied as her gaze left me and dropped to the ground, "Except.. Where did you learn to dance like that?" I shrugged and replied,

"It's no big deal. I've always danced, as long as I can remember. I've even gone to Brant Lake dance camp every summer in New York since I was like eleven." Quinn rubbed the toe of her flats against the wood of the porch and giggled as she said,

"Um, Brittany. If I went in there and asked ANY of those boys, they would agree with me. What you were doing in there is a big deal. You're amazing." The alcohol caused me to laugh louder than I would normally and I replied,

"Thanks. It's fun." Quinn began to giggle too and really, that's about all I remember from that night.

So now Santana's mad. Okay, she can just stay mad then. I don't know why I never told her I could dance. It just never seemed important that I talk about every little detail of my life. We were best friends, sure, we had been for a few years now. But we weren't "share every second of your life" kind of friends. I honestly didn't think that was what she wanted. Maybe if she'd ask me things about myself or share some things about her, maybe that would cause me to think she really loved me like I loved her. I told you I don't say I love you if I don't mean it. I had been telling Santana I loved her since the sixth grade because I did mean it. I so totally and completely meant it. She never said it back though. I was actually encouraged by that. It showed me that she wasn't someone to throw that word around lightly either, that she recognized its value. It made me trust her. Fine, she wants to be mad, I can be mad too.

She stayed mad for three weeks. It felt like forever. I had to dig my fingernails into my palms every time she was close to me to stop myself from dropping to my knees and begging her to forgive me for being so thoughtless. Then the thought would hit me,

"_I'm not the only one that's being thoughtless. At least I'm not also stubborn and childish like she is."_

Exactly three weeks after I received the note of doom, Santana dropped another note on my desk in History class. She didn't bounce past this time. She sat a row over from me. I waited until halfway through class to open the note. It simply said,

_**Mom works the late shift tonight. Come to my house about 10? Please?**_

I looked at her and saw she was staring at me. She looked tired and sick or something. Her eyes had dark circles under them and I noticed her tugging the sleeve of her blouse down to cover what looked suspiciously like bruises on her upper arm. I was immediately concerned and a little angry. I caught her soft eyes and gave her a tiny smile as I nodded. She smiled genuinely at me and reached for her pencil. I grabbed mine too and prepared to listen to Mrs. Parker for the first time in weeks.

That night I snuck out of my bedroom window and jogged to Santana's house. No way my parents would have let me leave the house at ten on a school night, so no way was I going to ask their permission. I peeked into the garage window and saw no car so I walked to the front door and knocked gently. Seconds after knocking the door was being unlocked and I grinned to myself slightly, picturing Santana waiting by the door for me to arrive. She opened the door and I saw she was already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, ready for bed. She started to smile at the sight of me, but quickly dropped her head. When she looked at me again her eyes were steely and she nodded,

"Hi Brittany." I nodded back,

"Santana." I stood awkwardly on her front porch as she seemed to wrestle with whether or not to even let me in the door. Finally I said, "Hey, if this isn't what you want I can go-" I trailed off when she grabbed my wrist and softly whispered,

"Stay. Please?" I nodded once more to work up my courage and then walked into the house without a real invitation. I immediately began to go upstairs to Santana's room. She looked at me quizzically as I headed up the stairs and said, "Where are you going?" I avoided her eyes as I said,

"We're going to talk. Really talk. I want to do that in your room. It feels more like us. Just come on." I continued walking upstairs. Santana stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few more minutes, probably trying to decide if this was the best idea. By the time I made it into her room I could hear her feet on the stairs and I knew she was following me.

When Santana walked into the room I was pacing back and forth from her closet to her desk and I began speaking as she sat on the edge of her bed.

"Santana, just hear me out ok? Yes I go to Brant Lake for dance camp every summer. Yes, I love to dance and I hear I'm pretty good at it. When there's music I feel alive, whole, and valuable. I've been pretty upset these past few weeks too because you know, even though you're my best friend, half the time you seem like you really don't want to know that much about me. That's why I haven't brought up dance. It's why I haven't talked to you about a lot of things. You confuse me. One minute you want one thing from me, and the next it's something else. I'm not dumb but I'm also not good at reading your mind…"

"Britt," she interrupted me, "are you sure about that? Because I think you can read my mind like an open book. Listen, I said all that stupid crap because I was jealous. I didn't like that you talked to Quinn about stuff you'd never talked to me about. I don't like needing you. I never planned to need you. But I do. Brittany Pierce I love you." She stalled and stammered and I saw a faint blush cover her neck. "I.. I mean.. I mean, not like that. I love you like a best friend. You're the only person I love." The blush began creeping further up her neck and she tried again, "It's just, I mean… You should tell me stuff.. You should.." She dropped her head to watch her fingers nervously twirl around one another. I slowly made my way over to her bed and dropped to my knees. I put my fingers under her chin and lifted her face to mine. I looked as deeply in her eyes as I could and I said,

"I love you too." Then I wrapped her in my arms and she laid her head on my shoulder. I was home.

"Come on." She said, and she pushed me away, standing up and walking around me.

I looked up at her confused. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"We're going to your house. We're going to sleep in your bed, and then tomorrow we're going to walk around school with our pinkies linked. This fight is over. I promise I'll try to open up to you more."

"Wait, San. One more thing ok?" She looked at me nervously but I walked over to her and grabbed her hand. I led her back to her bed and pushed her shoulders down so she was sitting. I walked back to the empty floor space, kicking some clothes and shoes out of my way. She is such a slob. I reached into my hoodie pocket, pulled out my iPod, plugged it into her iPod dock and selected a song. I had thought long and hard about the song I chose to dance to for Santana the first time. I spent that entire evening in my room choreographing and planning and finding the song that said the words I wanted her to hear so bad. So when the first hard licks from the guitar began and the voices of Relient K played through the speakers I began Santana's private show. The dance was upbeat and difficult. I put every one of my best moves into the song as the lyrics spoke everything I knew I wasn't allowed to say.

I made a habit  
Of never making promises  
That aren't easy to keep  
And there you have it  
But now I'll make you one that is  
To keep you here with me

But as every second that goes by  
I feel it's just a waste of time  
If I'm not with you

If home is where the heart is  
Then my home is where you are (my home is where you are)  
But it's getting oh so hard  
To spend these days  
Without my heart

So I'm taking you with me  
Anywhere that I  
Could ever wanna be  
For the rest of my life  
I want you there with me  
And if there ever comes a time  
When I should have to leave  
I hope you know that I  
I'm taking you with me

I ended the dance with a no hand catwheel, landing in the splits. I thought I was going to die from being out of breath, it had been a long time since I'd done a routine that intense. I looked toward the bed and I saw Santana sitting there with her hands clasped under her chin. She slowly rose from the bed and walked toward me. She offered her hand and pulled me to my feet. She took a deep breath and asked,

"Did you mean that? Those words, were those for me?" I nodded, face flushed, still too out of breath to speak. Santana's face split into a grin and she squeaked,

"You're beautiful when you dance." Then she surprised the hell out of me, stood on her tiptoes and kissed me hard on the mouth. "Come on, "she said, tugging me into the hallway, "I'm tired." I followed her, shocked, down the stairs, out the front door, and to my house.

**Thanks for sticking with the story. This is so much fun! The song is by Relient K it's called, "I'm Taking You With Me" in case you want to listen. Please review, I need your criticism.**


End file.
